


If You Lead, I Will Follow

by hrmdream



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrmdream/pseuds/hrmdream
Summary: Beca and Chloe are students at Barden School for the Gifted where young supernaturals like Faeries, Vampires and Lycans are taught to control their powers. Already brimming with magic, what more can happen at the school when the yearly Winter Solstice Festival comes around and oh, yeah... a young faerie goes missing.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Stacie Conrad/Aubrey Posen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	If You Lead, I Will Follow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iPhone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/gifts).



> Merry Pitchmas!!! 
> 
> I know nothing about Legacies/Supernaturals, but beca-mitchell is a fan so I tried my hand at building her a similar world for Secret Santa. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

Alice’s haggard breathing is like waves crashing the shoreline of the snow-covered and quiet forest. Thunderous, loud, and the only sound around. Not even the nearby stream trickled. It too had gone dormant -frozen along its bank- with the come of early Atlanta winter.

The only signs of life Alice sees are the barren-standing trees. With every whistle of chill wind cutting through the area, their lifeless branches stir gently. There is a kind of beauty and peace to the scene. The kind when one stumbles upon nature undisturbed. 

But there is no peace for Alice even here; she has travelled too far from the school boundary, and she is bleeding too much. Her assailant blocks her way back to safety, so Alice’s journey proceeds further into the thicket of the forest.

Tripping over a gnarled root and falling to the forest floor, Alice quickly crawls and presses her back against the strong trunk of a tree. The young, dark-haired faerie eyes the tracks she has left behind and murmurs beneath her breath. The slightest surge of warmth trickles outward from the faerie’s body as she watches the snow retake shape, looking as though it was never touched. 

Something warm rolls down the side of Alice’s face. She brings her fingers to her forehead and holds back a hiss when she comes into contact with an open wound. So focused on the gash in her stomach, Alice did not realize she had also taken an injury to the head. Her faint dizziness makes sense now.

Pulling her fingers from her face, the faerie watches as a drop of her blood falls to the snow from her blood-soaked fingers. Bold as fire, it boils against the pristine white ground. She curses beneath her breath. The realization she has been using magic to cover her footprints when she has potentially been dripping blood all along means her efforts were for naught. A trail of blood likely leads straight to her, and now she is low on her store of power for conducting magic. She has been wasting energy.

Alice attempts to rein in her breathing. Clenching her eyes tight, tears pooling at their corners, Alice strains her ears. Part of her hopes to hear nothing besides the forest and its natural groans, but she also sits expectantly, wondering whether her pursuer will suddenly materialize before her like a nightmare, or if she will be given a warning signal such as the crunch of snow beneath weight.

Alice’s plump, flushed face, already windswept from her run through the woods, drains of color when the snapping of a nearby root confirms her body-gripping fear. She is still being followed.

Tilting her head back, Alice looks to the sky. Through the tangles of branches above her head, she catches a glimpse of twilight. A fraction of the moon shines down on her, giving the faerie the faintest sliver of hope; magic under the light of the moon was strongest. 

Alice closes her eyes and murmurs desperately beneath her breath. She wills her body to gather energy to magic something. Anything. But Alice cannot shake the icy cold and the faintness in her head. Her magic wavers, weakly flickering inside her, like it does not trust in her strength to deliver a last effort. Alice almost cries from frustration.

A tut -surprisingly near- causes Alice’s stomach to twist icily and her heart to drop. The distance between her and the dangerous stranger is no more.

“You faeries. You’re much weaker than I imagined. It’s quite disappointing.” 

Alice turns her head, lips trembling, bloody hands clinging to her abdominal injury. “Please. What do you want with me?” 

“My darling, isn’t it obvious?” The looming figure produces a small, crystal amulet encased within thin gold wiring. A spectrum of misty colors swirl, floating in the center of the crystal; Alice is almost hypnotized by the beauty of it. 

The figure moves and Alice watches -entranced- as the swirling colors densely collect together. They form a weaved thread that gets pulled toward the crystal’s edge. The moment the thread escapes its stone encasing, it turns black and a sinister and dark chill settles in the air. 

It takes Alice a moment, but when it hits her, Alice tries to hold back a shiver from the dread of realization washing down; in front of her eyes is a thread of magic. 

Even though magic resides in Alice -an ever present prickle of warmth and static extending from somewhere deeper than her bones- Alice has never seen its raw form. As far as Alice understands it, she is never supposed to. 

Interwoven with a faerie’s soul, magic feeds into their life source. Consequently, a soul will cease to exist should their magic be taken away. Therefore, the existence of this thread of magic, its presence in the current state - stored in a soul amulet, is not natural. This is siphoned magic. Stolen magic. Severed from the soul of a weakened faerie. 

Which means the person standing beside Alice is not a born supernatural. More likely this stranger is an awakened human, who has killed and taken a faerie’s magic. To Alice’s kind, they are known as witches.

Alice thinks she is already frozen in fear, but it is the eerie smile, colder than the early December winds, which absolutely freezes over Alice’s insides.

“I see you have figured it out, little faerie. Now why don’t we get on with it then, shall we?”

The dark magic crawls across Alice’s hands, seeping into her open wound. She presses her hands against her bleeding stomach as if it will prevent the magic from entering her body. 

“Wait. Please. If - if you need more magic, I know where you can find faeries. I - I can take you to them. Let me live. Please. I can help you.”

“What a kind offer.” A cold yet gentle finger delicately brushes Alice’s cheek before the sharp edge of a fingernail begins to press into her skin; Alice lets out a small cry.

“But do you take me for an imbecile? Why would I bring you back to your kind when you could have them overcome me?”

“No- no, I promise. I would not do that. Please,” Alice begs. “There- there is a school nearby. I- I go to a school. There are young faeries just like me and- and other supernatural creatures, too, but - I know. I know that you can only siphon from faeries. So if that’s what you need - if you need more magic, that’s where you can find it.”

For a moment, Alice sees a spark of light. The dark magic momentarily draws back from her. 

Alice wills herself on. She attempts to stand up, “I can take you. I can show you. We’re close.” 

A shoulder lands on Alice’s shoulder and pushes her back down to the ground. 

Damp from the melted snow where Alice has been sitting, the ground beneath her is less firm and offers a slight cushion on impact. Still, a jolt of pain shoots through her stomach. The weakened faerie groans in agony.

“Please,” Alice whimpers, her head bowed over as she clutches at the source of her pain. “My information is good. I’ve given you what you’re looking for. Please just let me live.”

The laughter ringing through the forest is as sharp as icicles, and Alice knows she has made a mistake. It is not the first one she has made of the night. Deciding to trek through the forest practicing her magic when anyone could come across her is a shining example of everything she has been distinctly warned to never do.

As the laughter fades, the towering figure lowers themself beside her. Alice cowers away, but the softest brush of lips touches Alice’s ear. She shivers. 

“Silly little faerie. What I’m looking for is revenge.”

For a split second, it is suddenly so unbearably cold. But as quick as it had come, it goes, taking with it the last of Alice’s warmth, her magic, everything.

Even the cold.

\---

A thin layer of snow from last night’s snowfall covers most of the wide, open grounds of Barden School for the Gifted. 

Erected on an expansive chunk of land with rolling hills and peppered forests, Barden -a magnificent stone building laid with expert masonry- looks more like an ancient palace than a private boarding school for young adults. 

Students of Barden are typically accepted at age thirteen, studying for eight years until they graduate at twenty-one. With a high tuition cost, impossible acceptance rate, and impressive list of alumni, Barden is quite notorious for being elusive even to the richest of families trying to get their children in attendance. 

The truth behind Barden’s seemingly thorough selection of students lies in the fact the school is a centuries-old educational institution exclusively for those of the supernatural community. Barden is one school among three in the United States sanctioned by the Olde Elders -supernaturals who were still living either by the sheer power of their magic or through immortality achieved from soulbinding with their soulmate- to educate the magical youth on how to control their supernatural strength and abilities. 

As long as you were a magic being -mainly vampire, lycan, or faerie- Barden would accept you. Even awakened humans - werewolves and turned vampires- were brought in at random intervals throughout the school year and taught how to suppress their primal urges and manage their newfound supernatural state.

Living as long as powerful magical beings and immortals do (youth-wise, no one is invincible), there is a general abundance of wealth among the strongest and most dated magical families. As a result, Barden is heavily funded; the school’s students are spoiled with the latest in educational technology, luxurious living quarters, and well-kept school grounds and facilities to comfortably go about their training and studies.

One of the school’s most impressive facilities is the school courtyard. Only partially bordered by the west wing of the ancient stone school building, the courtyard stretches across acres of land. During the spring, the courtyard is a stunning maze of green landscape and ornamental plants to rival the most well-tended arboretums. Now, winter in full swing, the courtyard sits a mix of sleeping plants and evergreens.

A male figure crouches behind the shrub-like shaped wiry branches of a dormant berry bush in the courtyard. 

Rays of light from the cloudless sky reflect off the surface of snow, creating blinding flashes against his eyes. He attempts to squint them away as he assesses his plan of action.

Quickly, he darts, never losing cover between the dormant plant life and hedges of evergreen, making his approach ever closer to his target - a small-framed female with long chestnut hair. She sits at a stone table on a stone bench, completely concentrated on an open laptop with music pouring out from the headphones wrapped around her neck.

The male hesitates. The dense tangle of leafless branches he is currently positioned behind is one of few remaining points of concealment. Before long, there will be nothing but empty space between him and his prey. It is now or never he decides. 

Honing his sights, focusing his vision, the lycan-vampire hybrid braces all the muscles in his body before unleashing into a swift dash and bursting through the leafless shrubbery. Leaping across the distance, smoothly landing on his feet, arms held above his head, he is ready to -

“Jesse.”

Jesse -the male- freezes.

The warning snarl of his name sent a ripple down Jesse’s spine and shocked all the tiny hairs on his body to alert attention. The flight or fight mechanism of his body is distinctly attuned to the likelihood Beca -the seated female- is one annoyance away from making a public showing of claiming Alpha over him. 

Using his better judgement, Jesse decides it is best to not push his best friend over the edge. Tiny though she may be, he knows the power stored within her body. He would rather she not overtake him amongst the busy lunch hour when he has a reputation to keep in tact.

“Hey, Swanson.” 

A shock to the back of Jesse’s head causes him to hiss and scowl; his brown eyes flash red and his canine teeth quickly extend from his gums before retracting. 

Jesse rubs at his head where the tall, slender brunette, who is walking by, just hit him with the notebook held in her hand.

“Ow. What the fuck, Stacie?” he growls.

“That’s the way to sneak up on someone,” the vampire calls over her shoulder, throwing back a wink. “Take some pointers, Hybrid Boy.” 

Crestfallen -he has yet again failed to surprise Beca and just had Stacie rub salt to his wound- Jesse walks defeatedly to the garden table. 

“Damn. I really thought I was going to get you, Becaw.” Jesse drops with a sigh onto the unoccupied stone bench beside his friends.

“Maybe if you didn’t reek of popcorn and butter, you would have had me.” Beca rolls her eyes and closes the lid of her laptop. The assignment she was working on for History of Supernatural Principles would have to wait until later. 

“Shit, do I really? I washed up after Defensive Training today.” Jesse lifts his forest green knitted school sweater to his nose and sniffs. A frown creases the space between his eyebrows. “I don’t smell anything,” he says. “Stace?” Jesse stands and leans over Beca to offer a whiff of his garment to Stacie.

“Dude.” Beca frowns. Invasion of her personal bubble, especially when it comes in the form of Jesse’s popcorn-stenched body, is never welcome.

The back of Beca’s flexed hand swiftly comes into contact with firm abdominal muscles. Though barely looking like much of an impact, Jesse falls back down to his seat with a minor pained expression. He blinks blankly and then coughs. “Becaw,” he murmurs as though in disbelief. 

“Swanson, King of Barden Campus, put in his place by B. Mitch. Boy, do I love to see it.” Stacie cackles. “Be careful, Jesse. Your fanclub might find out the only reason you hold the school’s Yule Champion title three years running is because Beca doesn’t participate in the Winter Solstice Festival.” 

“Fanclub?” Jesse repeats dumbly. “I don’t have a fanclub,” he scoffs. 

Stacie and Beca turn to each other, sharing a quick roll of their eyes. Then, Stacie directs her attention to a group of girls a little ways behind Jesse. They have been standing, huddled and lightly giggling, eyes darting over to the three friends every few seconds since the moment Jesse had taken a seat. 

“Hey, ladies,” Stacie sweetly greets with a wiggle of her fingers, immediately catching their attention. “Do any of you happen to have an extra pencil by chance? Jesse needs one.” 

There is an oxygen-deprived and time-freezing pause as the group of girls go completely still. Eyes wide. Faces blank. Completely motionless. Until suddenly, the girls simultaneously combust in a flurry of movement. They scramble forward, still managing to stay huddled against each other, arms stretching and reaching out with newly produced writing utensils in hand. 

“Here, Jesse!” 

“Jesse, you can have mine.” 

“Take this. It’s my favorite.”

“Jesse-” 

“Actually, sorry about that, ladies.” Stacie shakes her head, feigning dismay, as she shrugs her shoulders. “Looks like Jesse doesn’t need one after all. Thank you _so_ much, though. He truly appreciates it. Right, Jess?” 

Beca bites back her smirk when Jesse sends Stacie an exasperated look. He composes himself by taking a deep breath and then looks over his shoulder. Beca cannot see his face, but the way he half-heartedly raises his hand with a strained “Yeah. Thanks, ladies.” helps Beca to imagine his face screwed up in forced pleasantry.

Dreamy, disappointed sighs break out as the girls disheartedly walk away. 

Jesse turns back around with a grimace. “Okay, okay. Shut up,” he grumbles. The pair of wicked grins on Stacie and Beca’s faces apparently say enough. 

“Wow. Why waste your time and magic looking for your soulmate, Jesse?” Beca arches a brow, her tone playful. “With that many drooling over you, you might as well start a harem or pack now.” 

“Ooh. That’s kinky, Beca.” Stacie’s eyes light up. She licks her lips, “Can you imagine the fun?” 

Beca clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Too bad someone has to be a romantic.”

“Hey,” the lone male of the table sits straighter, his expression darkening. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“Not like I’m complaining, but let’s be honest, Jesse. How many people have you tried to soulbind with now? Not counting our cute little Beca here,” Stacie wraps an arm around Beca’s shoulders, pulling the smaller female against her. 

“Ugh. Gross.” Beca shudders. The memory of the time her male best friend had convinced her to soulbind with him flashes in her mind, bringing a sour taste to her mouth. She generally avoids physical touch, so the reminder Jesse had once bitten her neck makes Beca uncomfortable. 

Beca can still feel the phantom pressure of Jesse’s teeth sinking into her skin. It compels her to believe the whole event scarred her. Mentally at least. Her regenerative powers are too strong for something like a soulbinding bite to leave a mark on her milky white skin.

Beca shrugs off Stacie’s arm, “Why did you have to bring that up?”

“What? It’s part of the reason why Jesse will never be able to claim Alpha over you. I mean - his chances were already slim before, but part of his magic runs through you now. Not to mention, who knows how many others he’s channeled his magic into. At the rate he is going, hybrid or not, he’ll be weaker than a purebred anything. Too many attempts at soulbinding,” Stacie remarks matter-of-factly.

Stacie is not wrong. 

Whenever anyone attempts to soulbind -try to fuse the magical energy inside themself to another- and fails, the initiator loses the magic they were channeling to the receiver, dwindling down their store of magical power. It is part of the reason why soulbinding is illegal for anyone under the age of eighteen. 

The age threshold seems to imply eighteen year-olds have better common sense about haphazardly giving away all their magic, but when the appeal of a successful soulbinding essentially translates to one finding their magical equal - their soulmate - logic and reason tends to fly out the window as it usually does for matters of the heart. The promise of unaging life and enhanced magical powers is simply an added bonus.

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Jesse pauses. “Am I?” he asks with a slight knit to his brow.

“Well,” Beca muses for a second, mentally testing her words before she speaks. “I can understand why you thought we were soulmates; we are the only two lycan-vampire hybrids for decades. But insisting Bologna Barb was ‘the one’ just because you have a shared love for food is next level crazy, dude.” 

Though Beca has her opinions on Jesse’s selection of individuals on his crazed hunt for his soulmate, she recognizes she is no expert on the subject of how the whole magical equals thing works. All Beca is aware of is -similar to yin and yang, light and dark, life and death- magic is understood to adhere to the idea of pairs. 

For every one _thing_ of magic, there is another that goes with it. Not necessarily an opposite, nor a half, but a corresponding other. And if your magic is introduced to the magic of another, which just so happens to be your other, the two threads would bond together, creating an unbelievable connection powerful enough to withstand time. Thus, the practice of soulbinding was introduced.

Vampires and lycans soulbind by biting, because the magic stored in these beings manifests physically into their unique features and special attributes (This is how supernaturals accidentally turn humans into rabid versions of themselves. Biting a human born with dormant magic surges magic into the human and, instead of killing them, awakens a hunger for magic, afflicting them with the monthly thirst for blood and uncontrollable turning beneath a full moon). 

Faeries, whose magic is tightly weaved into their souls, have a less brutal but more intimate process for soulbinding when they are the initiator. It requires the faerie to channel their very spirit into another being; a vulnerable process, allowing some recipients to glimpse the soulbinding faerie’s most sensitive memories. After an experience like that, a faerie-initiated soulbinding, even if a failed one, ends up creating a different bond entirely.

“I’m a little offended you haven’t tried to soulbind with me just because we get along,” Stacie says with a pout. 

Jesse groans. “Alright, I get it. Hah hah. Make fun of the guy that actually has a heart just because you two don’t.” There is an unexpected clip in Jesse’s tone that causes Beca to widen her eyes.

Gasping, Stacie places a hand to her chest, appearing affronted. “Excuse you. As the only one at this table in a relationship, you do not get to say that to me.”

“Please,” Jesse’s eyes roll, “being in a relationship for you just means you go to one person for sex. It doesn’t mean you actually care who it’s with.” 

A low whistle escapes Beca.

“What the fuck? Are you trying to start a fight, Swanson?” 

“Would it even be a fight? I could take you even if you went primal.” 

Immediately, Beca feels the tension and heat radiating from Stacie’s body. The vampire hisses and Beca is certain Stacie is one arrogant statement away from doing as Jesse mentioned - losing her hold on mental clarity, entering her vampiric form, and lashing out in a rabid, primal manner.

“Whoa,” Beca says, frowning. She holds her hands out between her two friends and quickly decides who to address first. 

“Jesse, that was a low blow, dude. You know how Stacie feels about Aubrey.” Beca is not trying to pick sides. She is trying to get Jesse to acknowledge the reason for Stacie’s reaction.

The corner of Jesse’s lip twitches. The muscles in his jaw clench. The infamous lycan stubbornness is probably influencing Jesse to not concede. 

Beca continues, “We were just messing with you, but I’m sorry if that struck a nerve. We won’t bring it up again.”

The tension still does not dissipate. Neither Jesse nor Stacie disengage from their staredown - one stubborn, another prideful. Beca almost groans. Instead, she taps into the imaginary chamber she uses as a way to easily envision the store of magic residing in her body. She pulls forth the smallest fraction. Her body tingles; her mind sharpens.

“Jesse,” Beca’s voice is a sharp, deep rumble. Both Jesse and Stacie turn to look at her; their red, pupil-dilated eyes flicker, revealing flashes of brown and green. 

“Did you hear me?” Beca asks.

Shoulders slouching, Jesse mumbles, “Yes.”

Beca loosens her hold on the magic she worked up. Her body relaxes. “You were being an unnecessary dick just now, dude,” Beca adds. 

“Sorry, Stacie,” Jesse sighs and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to say what I said. Obviously you- I know you have a heart. And - uh - Aubrey is nice. She’s good for you,” he says with a quick nod.

“Damn right she’s good for me,” lightness has returned to Stacie’s tone. 

“Are you nerds cool?” Beca questions. Even though her own body is no longer feeling alerted to a possible threat, she asks to be sure.

Jesse and Stacie both nod.

“Jesus,” Beca huffs. 

It is not often the three friends fight, but on the occasion there are disputes, Jesse and Stacie are usually the ones at each other’s throats, leaving Beca to be their mediator. Sometimes Beca wonders if her two friends play nice with each other just for her sake. 

Beca and Stacie became friends when they were sixteen -something to do with Stacie being impressed with Beca for not drooling hormonally over her like other lycans. Whatever the details, Stacie started hanging around Beca more often. Beca likes Stacie’s sense of humor. She finds the taller girl amusing and far from irritating.

Jesse on the other hand has been around for as long as Beca can remember. Their families live in the same neighborhood, which is really just a long street lined with five looming, ivy-covered stone mansions. Before coming to Barden, they had spent a lot of time running around their neighborhood together. Being hybrids -a rarity even amongst supernaturals- cemented Jesse as someone Beca felt could relate to her.

“So,” Jesse clears his throat, “the Winter Solstice Festival starts next week. Do you guys have dates to the masquerade ball?” 

“I’m going to ask Bree today,” Stacie grins. “What about you? Yule Champion always takes First dance. Who gets to be the lucky one for you this year?” Stacie waggles her eyebrows at Jesse.

Jesse laughs. “Hey, you never know what could happen this year. It might not even be me.”

Beca knows Jesse is attempting to be modest, but she doesn’t buy it.

Ever since turning sixteen and becoming eligible to take part in the Winter Solstice game - a traditional competition of strength and teamwork meant to promote unity amongst supernaturals- Jesse has been distinguished with the high honor of being crowned Barden’s Yule Champion for the past two years. The title is a stamp of approval by the Olde Elders, deeming the Yule Champion as the most powerful magical student amongst their school.

“Let’s be real. The only person capable of catching the eyes of the Olde Elders over you is Beca, and she hasn’t ever joined the Winter game. So unless she suddenly decides to take part this year-” Stacie stops.

Two pairs of curious eyes turn to look at Beca. 

Beca purses her lips and shakes her head. “I’m not joining the Solstice challenge,” Beca declares. She has been eligible to participate in the yearly challenge for the past two years, but she finds it a little lame.

“Not even if your dad threatens to take away your inheritance?” Stacie asks.

Thanks to her father’s bloodline, Beca is a descendent of the first ever vampire. Prideful as vampires are, every Mitchell is warranted a fraction of some immeasurable fortune established by a great great great grand _someone_ Beca has never met to keep the Mitchell family name ever feared and highly regarded. 

Beca scoffs, “I’d like to see him try. Anyway, Emily just turned sixteen. I don’t think he’ll be bothering me anymore. He has her to carry on his legacy.” Beca’s younger half-sister is both obedient and respectful. Things Beca most certainly is not. She is sure Emily would take part in the Winter Solstice event if their father asked it of her.

“But Emily isn’t a hybrid. That doesn’t tickle your dad’s fancy as much as if you were to join.” 

“Yeah, Stacie’s right. No offense to your blood or anything - Emily packs heat for a young vampire even though her mom is turned - but if your dad really wants his ego stroked, as we all know he does, he won’t settle until he sees his hybrid daughter compete.” 

“Well, we all can’t get what we want, can we?” Beca grumbles.

“What’s this? Beca being moody like always? You know it’s Christmas next week, Beca. You don’t have to be such a grinch.” 

Beca internally groans hearing Stacie’s girlfriend’s sickly sweet, high-pitched voice. “Hi, Aubrey. It’s always _so_ nice to see you,” she says without hiding her sarcasm or the roll of her eyes.

Stacie nudges Beca before turning to greet her girlfriend with a bright smile. “Hey, baby.” 

“Hi, you.” The two girls share a chaste kiss.

“Gross,” Beca makes a gagging sound. Aubrey and Stacie have been dating close to a year now, but she is still not used to seeing their displays of affection. To be honest, she is not used to Aubrey Posen being someone’s object of affection. This is not to say she detests Aubrey -the girl admittedly has her charm and appeal- but she and Beca just clash. 

Pulling away from her girlfriend, Aubrey turns to Beca and crosses her arms, “Real mature, Beca.”

“Wait but really, I think I threw up in my mouth a little.”

Stacie chuckles and shoves Beca’s shoulder before standing up, “Be nice to my girl.” 

Beca laughs. “Whatever. Go have fun at lunch with your faerie princess,” she teasingly comments.

Turning back to Aubrey, Beca’s face immediately goes deadpan. “Thanks for spoiling my appetite. I’m going to have to actively concentrate on not regurgitating my lunch today.” 

“You’re so annoying,” Aubrey shakes her head until a laughing Stacie tugs her away.

As the couple walk over to a group standing by, Beca’s eyes follow. She is not sure why she doesn’t stop herself. She already knows exactly who she will see standing in the group waiting for them: Chloe Beale with her vibrant hair as red as flames and eyes bluer than clear skies. 

A tightness grips Beca’s chest. 

In a weird sort of way, Beca finds the pain reassuring. Even though she is left with a hole in her heart from losing something she never had, and no amount of time or regenerating ability seems to be able to heal it, Beca thinks it is much better than the despair of getting the one and only thing she has ever wanted only to have it be taken away. Beca has seen what that can do to a person. She would rather not experience it for herself.

Beca forces herself to turn away.

“I can’t believe you called Aubrey nice.” Beca complains in an effort to distract herself from the uncomfortable swirling in her stomach. 

Whether Jesse is picking up on Beca’s distress or not, he does not make it known. He hums and tilts his head, eyes aimlessly pointing upward and giving the impression he is wracking his brain. 

“She is nice. In her own sort of way,” he says with a resigned shrug. “Can’t deny she has got something going for her to be taming Stacie.” 

Standing up, Jesse brushes off the dirt on his clothes from hiding in the bushes. “Ready to grub?” 

“Yeah, we should probably go do that.” Beca picks up her laptop and begins to walk with Jesse toward the food hall.

\---

Chloe sits perched on the edge of her desk’s tabletop, legs crossed at her ankles. Around her is buzzing chatter - classmates mingling, taking advantage of the time to socialize before an hour of Magical Theory.

“I can’t believe we get the whole week off next week,” Chicago hums. The male faerie is seated at Chloe’s desk, hunched over his notebook. His hand makes quick strokes with a pencil, drawing.

Chloe looks down, peeking over his head of dark brown hair to get a glance of his sketch. At the sight of a familiar and cute cartoon turtle, Chloe smiles. Her heart fills with warmth knowing the inspiration behind the work.

“Three days of the Winter Solstice Festival - opening ceremony day, challenge day, and the winter market and masquerade ball. Then, we go right into Christmas Eve and Christmas. Plus we still get the weekend.” Seemingly pleased with his art piece, Chicago leans back, dropping his pencil inside his notebook and smiling at Chloe. “It’s going to be the best week ever.” 

“As pretty and festive as the holidays are, I still don’t understand the commercial rush with all the presents and gift-giving,” Aubrey is at the desk next to Chloe’s, chin atop her fist.

“Why not? I love getting gifts,” Chicago shrugs.

“Sure, that is nice. But I, for one, love the thrill of seeing people’s faces when they open presents.” Chloe swings her legs, “That joy when they receive tangible evidence of your love for them,” she sighs. “What’s not to like?”

Then, Chloe turns to give Aubrey a pointed stare, “You’ve never complained about the presents I’ve gotten you through the years.”

“That’s different. I will gladly accept gifts acknowledging our wonderful friendship, because my presence is your daily present,” Aubrey smirks. 

Chloe laughs, “Of course.” 

“Going back to the topic of next week, though.” Aubrey adjusts her head so her temple rests against her fist. She looks over at Chloe and Chicago. “Are you two _soulbounded_ going to the masquerade ball together?”

Chloe chooses to ignore Aubrey’s sarcastic emphasis. She looks down at Chicago, meeting his blue eyes, and shrugs, “Only if you aren’t taking anyone else, Chicago.” 

“There is no one else for me to take.” Chicago’s eyes narrow slightly, piercing into Chloe’s.  
“You?” 

“Nope,” she responds, unflinching.

There is a beat of silence. Both parties are measuring the truth of the other’s words, trying to read through impenetrable expressions, until Chloe hums and slowly nods her head. “That’s that then.” 

“God, you two are so painful,” Aubrey says with a roll of her eyes. She lowers her volume to a hush as she leans across the aisle. “At least try to be more enthusiastic while you carry on with your charade.” 

Crossing her arms across her chest, Aubrey sits squarely in her chair. “If I were sacrificing my own happiness, I’d at least have some fun to make it worth the pain.” 

“Some things are easier said than done,” Chicago grumbles, throwing a side-eye at Aubrey. 

Aubrey arches her brow in response. “You think it was easy telling my war-weary faerie parents I am dating a vampire?” She huffs. “It wasn’t. It was scary as hell, but tell me what great things don’t start off scary as hell?” 

Despite the question being rhetorical, Chloe stares down into her lap. Her fingers fiddle with the hem of her skirt. 

One of the things Chloe admires most about Aubrey is her tenacity when facing a challenge. Even though the older girl bordered on obsessive and stubborn, she would at least face things head on. But the same cannot be said for Chloe. Challenges brought Chloe stress. Stress made Chloe anxious. And an anxious Chloe is a despondent Chloe. 

Unlike Aubrey, Chloe can only imagine standing her ground to her parents. But revealing her feelings to the person she has them for is another ballpark for Chloe entirely. Taking a leap of faith. Overcoming the risk of rejection. Stating her truth. These are things Chloe dreams about, and also what keeps her up at night wondering what would be different if only she had been different. 

Chloe’s stomach knots. She hates how her mind drifts to ‘if only’ and ‘what if’ all because of one ‘maybe’.

_“So - my parents - they,” Chloe nervously fidgets with her hands. There is no good way about putting this, so she spits it out. “My parents and Chicago’s parents think we should try and soulbind when I turn eighteen.”_

_Chloe watches Beca intently. Beca’s reaction to her is important, because ‘maybe’ Chloe thinks, just _maybe_ , Beca will give her a hint at something she has been hoping, imagining and dreaming. _

_Unfortunately, all Chloe gets from Beca is an unreadable, almost blank expression._

_“Oh. Well, what are you thinking?”_

_Chloe bites her lip. Her heartbeat quickens. “I mean - I think - you know - soulbinding is a rite of passage and everything. I - well - it doesn’t have to be him, but I think - I think it would be nice to have someone to soulbind with. Right?” Chloe slightly winces, already regretting not coming right out with saying ‘it would be nice to soulbind with you’. Truthfully, she kind of blacked out and was definitely losing oxygen by the end there._

_Beca nods her head slowly and without conviction. The kind of slow head nod where Beca is still processing. Processing and thinking._

_“But soulbinding should be with someone you actually connect with. When - if you’re both ready and willing. Not because your parents think you should, and especially not with some - some -” Beca raises her hands like she is not sure how to go on. Her moment of being at a loss of words concludes with a shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know this guy. I don’t even know what to say about him besides he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to be soulbinding with you.”_

_“Oh?” Chloe tries to vaguely probe._

_“Yeah. You hardly know him,” Beca’s answer comes out like she is stating an obvious fact which Chloe understands she is. Beca is right. She does not know Chicago. But Chloe is not looking for obvious facts. She wants to know how all of this makes Beca feel._

_Chloe wants to know if Beca thinks of her in the same way she thinks of Beca. In a way where she would tell Chloe not to soulbind with someone else because she would much rather Chloe soulbind with her. And maybe Chloe has already played out this fantasy of how she wishes things will unfold before she approached Beca, but is it too much for a girl to hope for?_

_Chloe quirks her mouth and wrings her hands. “No, I know. I know that, Becs. It’s just - well - don’t you think it’d be nice? To at least try? To have someone to try it with? You’re - are you thinking you’ll do it? When you turn eighteen? Is there someone you’d try it with?”_

_Chloe’s question seems to have caught Beca off guard. She sees Beca’s eyes widen. Beca blinks rapidly, opens her mouth as if to say something, but then closes it._

_Most people generally plan to soulbind as a coming-of-age custom, so Chloe is a little surprised Beca seems to not have thought about it. Especially when it has been all Chloe has been thinking about for months and specifically with Beca as her recipient in mind. Not to mention, Beca’s birthday is only a few months after Chloe’s, so it must have come up for the brunette at some point._

_“Becs?” Chloe gently nudges after a long silence._

_“What?” Beca startles, “Oh, I don’t - I don’t know, Chlo. If I - if - I don’t know,” Beca forces out every word._

_Beca is either getting flustered or frustrated. Chloe is not sure which, but Chloe can feel a familiar erratic energy sparking around the brunette. For as long as they have known each other, Chloe has been able to pick up on the vibrations of Beca’s magic._

_Chloe remembers the first time she ever laid eyes on Beca. They were both just four years old then. Chloe was trying to catch butterflies in the front garden of her house, and Beca had come marching up, face stern, body stiff, but with a warm, inviting glow radiating off of her. Chloe can still see it so clearly. She can remember how it drew her in and made her wonder about this new friend._

_Looking back now, Chloe likes to imagine she was seeing Beca’s potential - a power too large to be contained in Beca’s tiny body. Now, Beca has grown into her power. She is able to impressively control it, rarely, if ever, lashing out in primal form. Still, Chloe is attuned to Beca’s moods and the way they send out pulses of her magic energy._

_“Do you not care about finding your soulmate?” Chloe thinks she is asking an innocent enough question. However, Beca is looking at Chloe with something akin to a mix of offense and confusion._

_“You think this guy is your soulmate?”_

_“No. I just -”_

_Beca lets out a long, frustrated huff of air. “This is so stupid. Why are people stuck on this idea of finding their soulmate anyways? It doesn’t actually mean anything.”_

_Chloe feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. Soulbinding, soulmates - they kind of mean everything to Chloe. Sue her for being a romantic, but Chloe loves love. Love is part of the trifecta of splendor in her life - magic, beauty and love. Together they create a fairytale reality Chloe feels extremely lucky to live in._

_“Everyone talks up soulmates like the concept is be-all end-all.” Beca shakes her head. “But if it were, then why aren’t my parents together? They’re soulbound to each other, but they aren’t together, Chlo. Can you explain that to me?”_

_A heavy silence hangs in the air._

_Chloe is unsure what to say._

_“See. You can’t. So what’s the fucking point? Huh, Chloe? What’s the fucking point then?” Beca is looking at Chloe, and Chloe can see pain in her eyes. There is an almost desperation as she stares expectantly, waiting for an answer Chloe does not have the answer to._

_Chloe bites her lip and bows her head, turning away. “I- I don’t know. I’m sorry, Becs. Forget I even brought it up.”_

“-ght, class. Time to continue our debates on the balance of magical power and how it relates to society’s view of clan equality.” 

The teacher’s voice snaps Chloe to attention. Putting away her self-loathing and regret, Chloe slides off the top of her desk. She takes the seat Chicago has just vacated as he moves on to his.

“Ms. Mitchell,” Dr. Paolini -the Magical Theory teacher- calls out disapprovingly. 

Chloe’s head whips up. Her eyes land on the brunette standing awkwardly at the classroom doorway. 

A few months ago, the sight of Beca never failed to bring a smile to Chloe’s lips. Now though, Chloe’s heart beats heavy in her chest and her throat constricts. She tightly clasps her hands together to give herself reassurance she has some kind of control over her body’s visceral reaction. Then, she focuses on taking a deep breath.

“Late again?” the teacher asks with an arched brow.

“Oh, sorry. I-uh,” Beca rubs the back of her head and her face becomes squished in the way Chloe knows means she’s trying to think. “Honestly, I don’t have an excuse for you. I wasn’t going to come to class, but then I thought fuck it.”

Barely suppressed laughter sounds out through the classroom. 

The corner of Chloe’s lip tugs slightly upward too before a sinking drop in her stomach makes her guilty for thinking she could be allowed to laugh or take amusement from anything relating to Beca these days. 

Dr. Paolini sighs heavily, shaking her head of short, neatly-cut hair. “Language, Ms. Mitchell. And since you are already standing there, why don’t you be a part of our first topic of debate?”

Beca’s lips curl inward into a tight press. She nods slowly, measuring Dr. Paolini with a gaze like she’s acknowledging her tact. “Twist my arm. Why not,” she eventually says, quickly throwing her hands in the air as if she had a choice in the matter.

Beca moves to stand front and center of the classroom as the teacher scans the faces of students. 

Chloe does not realize she is perked up in her seat until her shoulders slouch and she deflates hearing Dr. Paolini pick Kommissar to be Beca’s debate opponent.

As the tall blonde makes her way down to the front of the class, Chloe slowly slides back in her chair, making an effort to not return Aubrey’s gaze. Chloe does not want to participate in a one-sided silent and judgemental conversation with her best friend right now.

“In honor of the upcoming Winter festival, the celebration of unity and respect for all supernaturals, Kommissar, you will be arguing the point of social and magical equality existing among the clans. Beca, you will counter.” Dr. Paolini gives a bored wave of her hand before she walks to take a seat at her desk.

Kommissar turns to face Beca with a smirk that makes Chloe uneasy. 

“As Dr. Paolini stated, the Winter Solstice Festival is one example of tradition that exists to remind all supernaturals of the importance in coming together. We get to see the displays of strength each supernatural clan offers to the magical community as a whole. Vampires have their agility, speed and blood tracing. Lycans have their strength, durability and scent tracking. And both transmogrified clans have beings who show regenerative capabilities.”

Something in what was said brings Beca’s trademark smirk to form on her lips. Chloe frowns because Beca does not smirk easily at strangers, and yet this new student is pulling one from her. 

“Faeries, unlike the other clans, do not have a primal state and are always constrained to a humanoid form. They can channel their magical powers through elemental and energy manipulation using the strong connection they hold to nature and spirits. Restricted only by the imagination and energy of a faerie, faerie magic almost knows no bounds. Where lycans and vampires inherently possess magic in the form of their abilities, though, faeries have to draw up power to use theirs.”

Kommissar pauses and turns to the class. “The distinctive traits of each clan is evidence that a natural check and balance of powers exists in the laws of magic. It suffices to say no single clan holds more magical power than another given each one has their own particularities and limits. The magical community understands that, which is why when we work together, just as we do in the Solstice games, to overcome challenges when we discover our combined strengths outweigh our individual weaknesses, we are proving the respect and recognition we hold for other clans and their abilities.”

Kommisar looks at Beca, cuing her with a nod and sweep of her hand.

Smirk still tugging at her lips, Beca hums and takes a tentative step forward. “You say there is respect, but you referred to lycans and vampires as transmogrified clans.” Beca’s eyes narrow, “That sounds a lot like faerie purist terminology to me. Is that what you are?”

Kommissar shuffles. A slight crease forms on her brow, “No - I- I read it-”

Beca raises a hand and continues, “The fact faerie purists even exist is proof enough there is not respect amongst the clans. No matter how strong or how collaborative an individual from the aforementioned ‘transmogrified’ clans is, there will always be a faerie purist looking down their nose at them for simply being what they are.”

Chloe sits up straighter when, just for a second, she thinks Beca’s eyes flickered to her. She feels the muscles in her body tense, surprised to find herself in a sudden defensive posture. In front of her, Chloe can see a few others -all faeries- have responded in the same manner. Beca’s words likely hit close to home for them too. 

“Lycans and vampires will always be considered second best to faeries of that kind, so there will never be true equality and respect.”

Kommissar frowns. “Well, with a history plagued with war, the magical community may still be working toward socially recognized equality and respect, but the natural laws of magic-”

“Ah, right.” Beca raises a finger as she interjects. “Thank you for bringing that up again, you gorgeous specimen, you.” Beca’s finger makes a motion, drawing up and down the length of Kommissar’s body before she winks. The class laughs. 

Chloe and her clenched jaw are grateful when the teacher pushes Beca back on track with a stern, “Ms. Mitchell.”

Beca raises her hands -palms out- and clears her throat. “So the natural laws of magic focus on how every clan of supernaturals has its own strengths and weaknesses, and the idea that those weaknesses -limits as you mentioned- were laid by some _thing_ to ensure there is balance of power.” Beca nods her head slowly while looking at the ground. Her finger taps against her lips.

“Except I exist,” she says after a brief pause, looking up at Kommissar. “I am a hybrid. Both lycan and vampire, and stronger than a purebred of either. Born to the bloodline of the first known vampire - a supposed transmogrified faerie,” Beca tilts her head slightly, “I defy these natural laws you speak of, because the raw magical power in me likely overwhelms any pure born individual from any clan.” 

As if sensing Kommissar preparing to retort, Beca holds up a hand, “Before you open that flawless mouth to try and challenge my statement because of my questionable modesty, think about why one of the first hybrids in decades has been crowned Barden’s Yule Champion for the past two years.” Beca leans towards the class with a hand to the side of her mouth, “I hear he’s banking on a third by the way, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

The class lightly laughs again.

Beca stands up straight. “We are all supernaturals. In that word alone, it is implied there are no laws or complete understanding to be found. We are not natural. The magic that flows in our veins knows no bounds. There is nothing to ensure magical equality, but social equality will not be reached unless we properly educate and govern ourselves.” Beca’s eyes take on a playful glint, “We could probably begin eradicating outdated textbooks that still use words like ‘transmogrified’ in them for starters.”

Kommissar is blushing. The sight brings tension to Chloe’s forehead. 

“As for faerie purists- well - the jury is still out on how to handle that one.”

This time, Chloe does not have to second guess. Beca’s stormy blue eyes are staring right back into hers. There is no decipherable emotion that Chloe recognizes in them. In fact, they appear to be looking at her blankly. Emotionlessly. 

Beca is looking at Chloe like she is nothing more than a stranger, and that realization makes Chloe’s heart clench painfully. She feels her heart fighting against being torn in half. 

\---

In moments like this, Beca is reminded of how envious of other students she is. They do not get interrupted by their parents when they are regularly going about their school day. Unlike her, their parents don’t teach at Barden (Why her father is even a teacher when he really could be sitting around doing nothing like his siblings is a mystery to Beca).

Beca is one more scoop of tomato soup away from creating the perfect ratio of grilled cheese and tomato soup in her mouth. Unfortunately, her father just said her name in the same tone of voice he uses before he lectures her endlessly about something boring. Beca begrudgingly puts down her spoon, because, if a boring lecture is why her father is here, she would rather save perfection to cheer her up after.

“Yes?” Beca answers her father after thoroughly chewing and swallowing the food in her mouth.  
She turns to look over her shoulder and discovers her father is not alone. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this adorable family gathering?” Beca’s eyes shift from her father to her half-sister standing beside him. The same shade of chestnut-colored hair is about all Beca finds she shares with Emily. Tall with a bright, cherub-like face and curious, innocent eyes, Emily hardly displays any surliness like what Beca typically feels inside. 

Emily smiles a tight-lipped smile before stepping past their father and taking a seat beside Beca. “He is having one of his moods today,” the younger girl quietly mutters to Beca as she reaches over and tears off a piece of Beca’s grilled cheese, dunks it in soup and leaves a trail of droplets on the table from putting the food in her mouth.

“Ugh, you dirty leech,” Beca pushes the soup bowl closer towards Emily.

“Rebecca,” Beca’s father is using her full name. This means serious business. Beca needs to play the part.

“Yes, Father. That is the name you gave me. What can I do for you?” Beca’s tone is mockingly serious as she turns away from watching her half-sister make a mess on the tabletop. 

“Emily and I were discussing her decision to participate in the Winter Solstice Festival this year. She is quite excited actually. To be able to be a part of a longstanding and proud tradition - it has been a dream for her and something she has been looking forward to for a while.”

“Wow, Legacy. I had no idea you felt all those things. Tell us then, in your own words, how do you feel about getting to represent the _proud_ Mitchells in the _honorable_ Winter event?” Beca holds out an imaginary microphone in her closed fist. 

Emily blinkingly stares back at her, mouth full of food. 

“Too much excitement. You have no comment. Got it,” Beca speaks on Emily’s behalf into her closed fist and winks, causing Emily to snort and shoot bits of bread and soup from her mouth.

“Jesus, Legacy-” 

“ _Ohmygosh-_ ”

“Rebecca,” Beca’s ears catch the hint of reproach. Her father lets out a stream of hot air through his nose. Even though Emily was not facing him, he checks his tweed jacket and brushes the collar.

When he is finally satisfied with the state of his jacket, he clears his throat. “As I was about to say - unfortunately, Emily and I also discussed how unsafe it would be. With the disappearance of the faerie student earlier this month, it would not be advisable for her to join. The game is held in the forest, and as young as she is, still with much training ahead of her, it would really be too dangerous and reckless for me to allow her to go ahead. Should something happen during the games - well, I would not forgive myself.” 

Beca frowns. None of this sounds like what she expects of her father. Landon Mitchell arrogantly displays his superiority whenever he is able. The higher the odds, the more he presses forward. Beca is sure he expects his daughters to do the same.

“Then we began thinking. If you were to take part in the event as well, it would be safer. You would be an extra pair of eyes, and I would feel more reassured as a parent to allow her to enjoy the festival as any sixteen year-old should be allowed.”

Beca almost laughs. 

Her dad has managed to impress her for once - using Emily as leverage against her is a first. Curveball or not, Beca has played this game with her father enough times through the years to see his tricks and know the outs.

“If it is as dangerous as you say, why are we still having the Solstice challenge?’ 

“Besides it being tradition - and we really should not be breaking tradition - the school and the Elders have been working together on how best to ensure the safety of the students without interfering on the authenticity of the challenge. They feel confident the precautions they are taking will allow the game to continue.” 

“Well, if the school and the Elders are confident, sounds pretty safe to me. What more can I bring to the table that seasoned magical adults can’t?” 

Beca feels the corner of her lip beginning to curl upward. She has outmatched her father in this particular round based on the dead silence that hangs in the air. She almost raises a clenched fist of victory when his shoulders drop. 

Apparently not short of surprises for Beca today, her father eyes her tiredly; Beca is used to him looking at her with steel in his eyes - like every conversation with her is a battle. He runs his hands through his hair.

“Beca, all I am asking of you is to keep an eye on your sister,” he begins in a tone Beca does not think she has ever heard him use with her before - unguarded and honest. “The best way for you to do that is to join the festival yourself. You would be closeby and able to be at her side in an instant.” He shakes his head almost sadly, “You can think I am trying to pressure you into the game all you want, but at least speak to Emily. She is trying to do you a service by looking less interested in the festival than she actually is.”

Landon Mitchell eyes his two daughters before turning his back and walking away.

Beca frowns at her father’s departing figure. She turns to Emily who is sitting quietly beside her. Emily who won’t meet her gaze. 

“Is he - was what he said true? Do you really want to do this?” Beca asks hesitantly. The way Emily seems to be avoiding meeting her gaze already gives Beca an answer to her question.

“Legacy?” Beca presses again, keeping her tone questioning but kind.

Finally, Emily sighs. Her babyface scrunches together in what Beca recognizes as Emily’s ‘oops’ face. It’s also another version of ‘I’m sorry’.

“Damn it, Legacy,” Beca groans and huffs. She hangs her head back, staring up at the ceiling and mulling over what matters more - getting on her father’s nerves or making her younger sister happy. She kind of hates how easy an answer comes. 

“Fine,” Beca grumbles. “I’ll do it.” 

“Oh my stars! Really!?” 

Beca tiredly sighs, “Yes.”

“Oh em gee! Thank you, Beca! You are - without a doubt - the best sister anyone could ask for!” Emily pulls Beca into a nearly-suffocating hug, not even releasing her when Beca begins lightly swatting at her.

“I can’t wait to play the games with you. Do you think they’ll place us on the same teams for some of the events? We would totally win, right? I mean, I am sure we would. Of course we would-”

While Emily rambles off and squeezes the life out of her, Beca wonders for a second why she agreed.

\---

The Sunday evening sun sits low on the horizon. Without the sun’s heat to bring warmth, a crispness chills the air, prickling Chloe’s cheeks with a hint of numbing coldness. She mutters behind the collar of her jacket, watching her breath rising like steam as a rush of warmth shoots down her head to her toes. 

Standing taller, Chloe tips her head in greeting to the driver making his way around the sleek, black car parked in front of the school building. He opens the back passenger door, and a tall man with red-ish brown hair and bright blue eyes exits the vehicle. 

“Dad!” Chloe barely gives her father a chance to step forward before she wraps him into a welcoming hug. He chuckles a deep rumble that rolls from his belly to the open air. “My little girl,” he greets fondly before pressing his lips to the top of Chloe’s head. Chloe is all smiles as she relishes in the warmth.

“Now, let me see. Have they been starving my precious daughter here at this wretched school?” 

Strong, gentle hands that have picked Chloe up when she has fallen and soothingly patted her head during sleepless nights now squeeze her upper arms while kind blue eyes feign seriousness and roam Chloe’s face.

Chloe reins in her giggles and mimics her father’s seriousness. “It has been so horrible, dad. I can’t believe I go here.” 

Alaric Beale shamefully shakes his head. “I’m really sorry your mother and I could not do better for you, sweetheart.” 

Chloe breaks out into a grin and squeezes her dad into another hug. “I missed you,” she murmurs against his chest. 

“I missed you too, Chloe bear.” Her father’s voice drops to a low whisper in her ear, “Now, say hi to your mother.”

Chloe pulls away from her father’s embrace and finds her mother standing nearby. With bright red hair coiled into a tight bun and a face carved with sharp angles accented by even sharper eyes, Chloe thinks her mother looks - as always - painstakingly put together.

“Mother,” Chloe greets with a short nod of the head. She feels hands on the back of her elbows, pulling her forward, so Chloe leans in and passes kisses on two cheeks. Then, she is let go, so Chloe steps back. Chloe’s interactions with her mother are almost all like this - a rehearsed dance from years of practice.

“Chloe, dear. Where is Chicago?” Penelope Beale is sweeping her eyes around the empty front pathway to the school as though asking for the male faerie will magic him into her presence. It is something Chloe would not put past her mother in being able to do to be honest. Considering her mother comes from a family that is practically faerie royalty, the woman has an unparalleled way with magic. 

“I don’t know,” Chloe answers. 

“Well, are his parents here yet? Opening Ceremony starts in a few hours, no?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe answers again. She regrets not planning for greeting the parents with Chicago. Maybe it was foolish on her part thinking her parents would want to spend uninterrupted time with her after months of not seeing each other. 

Chloe does not miss her mother’s short sniff. Disappointment. “Well, we should find them and say hi before the festival begins, Alaric.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“Chicago, too, Chloe. Bring him to say hi to us, won’t you?” 

“Yes, mother. If I see him, I’ll let him know.” 

Satisfied, Chloe’s mother begins walking toward the school building.

Chloe almost doesn’t follow her, but a comforting hand grips her shoulder and a reassuring nod helps her forward.

Chloe and her father follow her mother through the threshold of the school’s front entrance. Inside, there is more chaos than what Chloe would consider usual. Parents have come in for the Winter Solstice Festival, and there is commotion as only families getting together bring. 

“How are you feeling about the games, Chloe? You are not going to lose another chance at Yule Champion to that transmogrified crossbreed boy are you?” 

If her mother were not so refined in how she carries herself, Chloe thinks her mother would rather spit than say ‘transmogrified crossbreed’ again.

Chloe closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. “His name is Jesse, mother. I don’t know how you always manage to forget his name when he and his parents are our neighbors. I have known him since I was four.” 

“Oh, you know how forgetful I can be, Chloe.” The reply is airy and breezy. 

Chloe holds back a scoff. She decides to pretend to believe her mother, who manages to bring up the tiniest details from mundane events Chloe has no recollection of ever happening, cannot remember the name of a kid Chloe has spent the past fourteen years of her life being friends with.

“Well, Jesse is a very strong and capable supernatural. If we are not placed on the same team, I am not sure how well I will do against him, but I will try my best.” 

“It really is a wonder why they compose the teams the way they do. Mixing clans like that.” Chloe’s mother tuts. 

“It is a celebration of magic and magical unity, Mother.” 

“Is it this way to the Parents’ Housing?” Chloe is not surprised when her mother does not acknowledge her statement. She recognizes the dismissal. Not only did Chloe’s mother spend eight years of her life here, just like Chloe will, but the school’s layout has not changed since last year’s Winter Solstice. As always, visiting parents are hosted in the school’s East Wing where there are a multitude of spare rooms.

“Yes, mother.” Chloe dutifully answers anyway.

“Oh, I do hope no one has claimed the room we usually stay in, Alaric.” 

“Mmm,” Alaric murmurs in agreement to his wife. 

Chloe looks up at her father. She can only see the profile of his face, but it is enough for her to see how he greets the parents and students they are walking by with a kind smile. When his gaze lands on something, his expression quickly changes - eyes widening and face brightening.

Chloe is turning her head to see what has caught his eye.

“Beca!” Chloe hears her father call out. Her stomach lurches. She freezes.

To Beca’s credit, the brunette lets her surprise show very briefly. Despite a beat of hesitance, she crosses the distance and comes over with a respectful nod of her head and accompanying smile. “Mr. Beale,” she greets warmly. 

Chloe sees Beca’s smile turn tight when the brunette quickly follows with, “Mrs. Beale.” 

“How are you doing, Beca? Am I finally going to be seeing the impressive feats of strength Chloe is always going on about?”

Chloe feels heat rising to her cheeks. 

“Any single time she is home for break, Chloe does not fail to talk my ear off about how you would out-muscle Jesse.”

Fire. Chloe’s cheeks are on fire. 

“I always tell her you have such a tiny body I would have to see it to believe it.” 

Beca laughs. Chloe almost melts. She did not realize how much she had missed that laugh. 

“Uh - well -” Beca nervously scratches the back of her head.

Recognizing discomfort, Chloe decides to step in. “The Solstice Game isn’t really Beca’s thing, Dad,” 

“Oh, actually, I’ve decided to join this year.”

Chloe is surprised. She tries to search Beca’s face, but Beca is not meeting her gaze. Beca is only shining her beautiful, rare smile to Chloe’s father. Chloe doesn’t think she has ever been jealous of her father before.

“Really? That is excellent! Let’s hope you two end up on the same team then, huh? Then I will feel less conflicted about who to cheer for.” 

Beca finally acknowledges Chloe then. A single, darting glance - enough to make Chloe’s chest thump. 

“Right. Yeah.” The lack of conviction in Beca’s voice is likely evident even to the untrained ear. It is probably why Chloe feels her dad shuffle beside her. 

Chloe’s father takes a quick breath, like he is preparing to say something, but Beca beats him to the punch. 

“Anyway, it was great seeing you Mr. Beale. Mrs. Beale.” Beca smiles and walks away. 

Chloe feels her heart sink and tug, hopelessly reaching out to Beca. 

A short sniff pulls Chloe back. “Such a shame that one.” 

“Huh? What do you mean, hon?” 

“She’s so pretty, and I can feel the magic inside her. It’s strong.” Chloe turns to her mother, feeling a little dazed. She is not sure if she has drifted to an alternate reality, because her mother has never complimented Beca before. 

Somehow ignoring that Beca is all kinds of greatness packed into a fun-sized frame, Penelope Beale barely even acknowledged Beca’s presence in Chloe’s life. In fact, Chloe is beginning to just now realize, her mother’s easy dismissal of Beca is part of the reason Chloe and Beca fell apart to begin with.

_“Chloe, what the fuck?” Beca spins around. She is furious. Her eyes are rapidly alternating between striking gold to storming deep blue._

_Chloe is trying to catch her breath._

_They are outside Chloe’s house where Chloe’s eighteenth birthday party is taking place. The party Chloe just ran out of to follow Beca._

_“I’m sorry, Becs. I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d -”_

_“No, Chloe. This isn’t about her. I don’t care about her. I don’t care that she purposefully uninvited all of your non-faerie friends to your birthday. What I am trying to understand is why you didn’t stand up for yourself just then.” Beca is snapping at her and Chloe tries not to shy away from the accompanying wavering of massive energy. She feels the growing pressure like a dam with water rising to an uncontainable level._

_“Becs, you don’t understand,” Chloe begins._

_“Explain it to me then. Why - why is she telling all of those people you are agreeing to soulbind with Chicago? Why did you not correct her, Chlo?” Beca’s eyes search Chloe’s face._

_“It’s-” Chloe hesitates, unsure how much of Chicago’s business she is able to divulge, “-complicated,” she finishes lamely._

_“Complicated?” Beca breathes out unsurely._

_Chloe pushes to try again. She takes a deep breath, “Chicago - he and I - we thought it would be-” Every word coming out of Chloe’s mouth only seems to darken Beca’s expression._

_“Wow.” Beca shakes her head in disbelief. “So you - you’re ok with this.” Beca’s voice tremors. “I can’t believe this.” Chloe senses the dam starting to crack._

_“No. Listen. Becs,” Chloe softly urges. She struggles to find the right words to say. The stifling air around them is not making it easy for her to think, nor is the pressure of Chloe knowing what she chooses to say holds the chance of wiping the tension away or shattering it._

_Chloe brushes her hair out of her face; there’s a mild wind picking up. “About Chicago - he-”_

_“No, Chloe. I can’t - I can’t listen to you talk about Chicago.” Beca begins to walk away._

_“Beca, wait.” Chloe follows, heart tightening in her chest. Every step Beca takes is strangling her, cutting off air and crushing her heart. “Beca, please.”_

_Neither girl is looking up, but the sky above them is growing steadily dark._

_“Go soulbind with your faerie boy, Chloe. I’m sure you two will be perfect matches.”_

_Chloe’s stomach hardens. “Becs!” she cries in frustration._

_Lightning cracks the sky._

_“Will you just listen to me?” Chloe stomps her foot to the ground, feeling like a petulant child._

_“Stop, Chloe. Seriously, just stop. Please.” Beca’s head shakes._

_Chloe is confused. She stands frozen in place and blinks, staring at Beca’s back. For a moment Chloe wonders why she stopped when all she wants is to run forward. To go to Beca, to make her turn around, to look into those comforting eyes, to get her to understand._

_But Chloe is frozen, and she can’t even so much as yell for Beca. Her mouth is lagging behind her brain, but Beca’s is working just fine._

_“You heard your mother, Chlo.” Beca’s sigh is heavy. It is weighted. “We’ve outgrown each other. You’re eighteen now, and I’m about to be too. It’s time we - we should go back to our own kinds.”_

_Chloe painfully swallows the lump forming in her throat. It joins the torturous twist in her gut. “Becs, please. My mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and you don’t mean that.” Tears are beginning to blur Chloe’s vision. Above her, the sky is rumbling now, dark and covered by large, looming clouds._

_“She does, though. She really does. We both know she has never liked me, Chloe. She’s - obviously she has been waiting for us to go our separate ways.” Beca’s head is shaking again. “I think- it’s probably best - let’s do ourselves a big favor. You go be your mom’s daughter, Chloe. I’m going to go be mine.”_

_Chloe has never felt this before. Like she is breaking. She has fallen, she has collided, and she has been cut. But breaking? Chloe clenches her fist. “Is this all it takes?” Chloe’s question is raised but shaky. “You’re just going to leave me? You’re going to throw away our - our -” Chloe’s voice cracks, “-us?”_

_Beca’s laugh is weak and humorless. “Stronger bonds have been broken, Chlo,” she murmurs._

_“Beca-” an ache is welling inside of Chloe._

_“Go back to your own kind, Chloe.” Chloe has never heard Beca - her fighter with so much potent power - sound so … defeated. Chloe stumbles back from the shot to her heart. Somehow her legs manage to keep her upright, but they cannot do anything else for her._

_Like a sad cliche, Chloe stands in the pouring rain, barely able to breathe, watching Beca get farther away from her._

“-she’s another of those transmogrified. And a hybrid no less.” Chloe’s mother lifts her nose and shakes her head. 

Chloe’s present is no better than her past. Chloe’s stomach twists heatedly. 

“Penelope-”

“There’s nothing wrong with any of that. At all.” Chloe is surprised by how distant from herself her own voice sounded. 

Chloe’s mother looks down at her. Her brow knits, though only briefly, before it loosens back into the stoic expression Chloe is used to seeing on her mother. “You’re young, Chloe. You do not know about that kind.” 

“No, mother. You do not know.” Chloe’s hands are curled into fists, “We are all kinds of magic. All of us. Faerie, lycan, vampire, hybrids. We are all supernatural. And all of that is beautiful. You need to start seeing the truth. If you can’t, if you refuse, then the only shame here is the shame that my mother has an ugly heart.” 

This is the first time Chloe is ever seeing shock on her mother’s face. 

“Chloe-”

“You guys know the way to the guest wing. I’ll be going now. I’ll see you later at the opening ceremony. Sorry, Father. Mother.” Chloe bows her head in respect before walking off. Where her feet are taking her, Chloe is not sure. She just knows she feels good. Better than she has felt in a while.

\---

Barden lake sits in the middle of an open clearing in the forest. 

The dim glow from the moon hanging above glistens against the lake’s surface where mists shimmer and skim. Breath from the students, parents, and faculty standing around the lake rise up like silvery puffs floating toward the sky. 

Beca takes a breath. Deep, steady, full. She releases. Controlled, slow, long. It is cold and Beca is regulating her temperature.

They are a few minutes out from midnight and the beginning of the Winter Solstice. Opening Ceremony is about to begin. 

“Wow, look.” Emily nudges Beca and directs her attention to two individuals, one male and one female, moving through the crowd. The Olde Elders. 

Beca has never attended the Winter Solstice’s Opening Ceremony before. She has never seen an Olde Elder, but she knows they always come. Every year during the Winter Solstice the many Olde Elders are divided and travel to each of the magical schools across the globe to monitor their observance of the traditional magic celebration. 

“She is glowing,” Emily whispers.

Beca has to agree. The blonde woman, dressed in silver and white, is illuminating the space around her as she walks - floats - to where Barden’s headmaster stands. The reverent silence as everyone watches with eyes glued to her gives Beca the sense she is not the only one filled with awe for this woman.

The Olde Elder smiles softly at the headmaster before she turns to the crowd. Her male counterpart on the other hand makes no expression. He silently follows and stands by her side.

“Welcome, all!” Her voice is clear and strong. “I am Gail and beside me is John.” 

Whispers break through the crowd. Far removed as she is, Beca is not completely daft. She has read her history books. She has heard of Gail and John. Two of the original supernaturals. 

Beca is not sure why she is so surprised to see them before her, alive and breathing. All of the stories talk about how they are powerful beyond measure. The fact that they stand before Beca as though centuries have not passed since they first discovered magic inside them gives Beca the impression the two are likely soulbounded.

“We are honored to be with you, in this place, in this hour to witness the wonder of fire, light, magic, and above all - the bond between fellow supernaturals.”

“Oh my stars. I am so excited.” Emily buzzes.

“Chill, legacy,” Beca murmurs. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

Gail beckons with a single hand. “Let the strong, wise and true come forward now.” 

Beca takes a deep breath, this time out of comfort than necessity. Along with Emily and the other students around them, she steps forward. They head toward the edge of the lake.

“May you each call upon the power gifted to you. Now let it begin.” 

The lake begins to swirl. Chunks of ice form in the natural basin. 

Unconcerned by the frighteningly cold-looking lake, the students around Beca cheer and whoop as they begin running, diving, and jumping into the lake. They splash, sending a blended mix of water, slush, and ice into the air.

“Shit, that looks cold.”

“That’s the point!” Emily runs by Beca with a shriek as she too takes the plunge into icy depths.

“Fuck” is all Beca gives herself before she follows just as speedily.

Beca’s legs are the first to immediately feel the tight clinch of glacial impact. The freezing shock rises quickly, almost unnaturally, up to her head. Beca can feel her muscles tightening and her body begins to quake uncontrollably.

“Shit shit shit,” Beca curses under her breath. _Breathe_ she reminds herself.

The clamor around Beca grows distant as she focuses on her body’s processes. 

_Pump. That’s it. Dilate. Flow._ Beca is mentally instructing her veins and the blood within them. Once she feels her blood put on a winning fight against growing frigid, Beca moves on to conduct her deep breathing. 

In no time, Beca’s body is thrumming with warmth. She grins and dives deep into the lake. Beca finds that the farther she goes, the warmer she gets, and the less students she sees. 

As she knows is required for a proper Opening Ceremony pledge, Beca takes herself all the way to the bottom of the lake. Her hand brushes against the lake’s surprisingly soft bottom, nearly jolting back from the shock that ripples through her body on the contact. 

Then, Beca heads back to the surface with the magic of another coating the tips of her fingers.

\---

Chloe shoots herself up, up through the water, breaking straight back into the chilly open air. She lets out a squeal of delight as she dashes back to the shore. 

Standing back on solid ground, Chloe unleashes her magic with a quiet murmur and warms her body.

Around Chloe, teachers are attending to students who were unable to succeed in surviving the cold water. Chloe sees that they do not have the magic trace on their fingertips. Her eyes sweep around and she finds other students who do have the magic trace. Some are still working their magic to warm themselves. Others are casually talking to friends and family, the signs of the lake visible by the state of their hair and clothes.. 

Then, Chloe spots a familiar head of blonde hair.

“Bree!” Chloe runs over and pulls Aubrey into a damp embrace.

“Oh my gosh, Chlo,” Aubrey shrieks. “I just warmed myself!” 

Chloe gleefully cackles and tightens her hold. “Merry Winter Solstice!” she cheers in her best friend’s ear. 

“Ugh, yeah, Merry Winter Solstice, Chlo. Now dry us off, bitch.” 

Chloe laughs and sends a surge of heat from her body over to Aubrey’s. She lets Aubrey free from her hold after she feels that their clothes have thoroughly been dried.

“Can I get some of that?” Stacie is freshly emerged from the lake. Her skin is pale, almost ghostly translucent. The deep blue lines of veins branching around Stacie’s body are emphasized against her skin. Chloe can practically see the blood pumping through them. Chloe knows Stacie is working her blood tracing overtime to keep her body warm in the way vampires do.

“I got you, babe.”

Aubrey greets her girlfriend with a deep kiss. 

When they break from each other, Stacie’s skin is flushed.

“Yeah, okay. I could get used to that,” Stacie says with a grin.

Chloe’s fingertips begin to tingle. She looks down at her hands. The magic’s owner is calling it back. Like Stacie and Aubrey, Chloe follows the pull to a gathering of students before the Olde Elders.

“Hello,” Gail greets the collection of young supernaturals. “You stand before me now, successful in executing the initiating pledge to participate in the Winter Solstice Challenge. Now, I will split you into your teams before you are given the day to rest and prepare for tomorrow.”

Chloe has never quite figured out how the Olde Elders made their choices when dividing the students into teams. The only commonality Chloe picked up on is the mixed composition of individuals from different clans. There was always at least one of each - lycan, vampire and faerie. 

Gail is sweeping her eyes around the young faces before her. Chloe feels Gail linger on her momentarily. Once Gail’s gaze passes on, Chloe notices an interesting static like residue tingling inside her head.

One-by-one, the Olde Elder points at students around Chloe and begins composing teams.

Aubrey gets paired with Jesse and Lilly (a vampire). 

Stacie is with Cynthia-Rose (lycan) and Jessica (faerie).

Then, it is Emily, Chicago, and Benji (lycan). 

As the crowd around Chloe thins out -those who have already received their team assignment have gone back to the school to get sleep- a nervousness bubbles in Chloe’s stomach. Beca is still within the small throng of students yet to be assigned a group.

Before Chloe can think too much about it, the Olde Elder’s eyes land back on her and jerk her to attention. “Faerie.” 

Excitement bubbling through her, Chloe follows the elder’s direction. She heads off to the side - away from the remaining students.

“Vampire.” 

Set off from the crowd, Chloe turns to see her new teammate. She recognizes the tall, short-haired female walking toward her - Calamity. They do not have classes together, but Calamity has a reputation that precedes her. The coy wink sent to Chloe pretty much solidifies the rumors Chloe has heard. 

Calamity is a known flirt. 

“Well, hey there.” Calamity sidles up next to Chloe. 

“Hi.” Chloe makes a point to not meet the vampire’s gaze. She watches the Olde Elder patiently.

“I thought I was excited before, but knowing you’re on my team has me wondering what I did to deserve such luck.”

Chloe is mid-eyeroll when the Olde Elder calls out, “Hybrid.”

Breathe already stuck in her throat, Chloe is not prepared when her gaze connects with deep blue irises. 

Chloe’s stomach swoops.


End file.
